Beautiful Things
by JamesLuver
Summary: The arrival of Mr. Pamuk causes a stir both above and below stairs, leading Anna and Mr. Bates into a conversation about what makes someone beautiful.


**A/N:** Wow, lookit this. It's been forever since I last posted an A/B oneshot.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own_ Downton Abbey_.

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_Beautiful Things_

The servants' hall is finally beginning to quieten down. Anna sits in her usual place by Mr. Bates' side. He's sitting with a book open in front of him, his gaze cast down. She peers over his shoulder. Robert Burns' poetry. She hides a smile.

Today, everyone has been busier than ever. Lord Grantham has been entertaining the hunting party, and the place is alive with the speculation of Lady Mary and Mr. Napier. Miss O'Brien scoffs at the notion, claiming that Lady Mary is too stupid to take a good deal when she sees one, but Daisy is more romantic, offering silly notions of love and wooing. She's soon cut down by the acid tongued lady's maid, but the exchange had been enough to spark off everyone else's opinions – out of earshot of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, of course.

Now that the more hectic tasks are complete, most people have started drifting off to bed. When there is more work, everyone feels drained much more quickly. Anna herself is feeling the strain, but she doesn't want to go to bed quite yet; Mr. Bates seems to be content sitting there with his book and his cup of tea, and she's not had a proper chance to speak to him all week, too busy with the preparations for Mr. Napier's visit. So she pours over the intricate needlework that she could have started tomorrow, furrowing her brow as her needle slides in and out of the silky fabric that she is mending. It's a blessed relief to be sharing the quiet moment with him. Even though they're not speaking, Anna feels comforted that he's there beside her, his presence warm and reassuring.

Not that they're alone. Gwen is sitting opposite them, practising her typing. She doesn't usually take her typewriter anywhere because it's so heavy, but she'd been complaining earlier that she'd not had time to practise all week. When she'd suggested that she bring it down to the servants' hall when everyone else had gone to bed, Anna couldn't very well have refused. In any case, Gwen is nice company. The gentle tapping of the keys breaks through the silence, and the methodical shifting of the paper being shuffled is a soothing sound, somehow. Anna revels in it.

Daisy is sitting beside Gwen, her eyes wide and curious as she takes in the speed of Gwen's movements across the keys. Beyond the servants' hall, the muffled sound of Mrs. Patmore moving around can be heard, but it's as if they're in their own bubble, where the outside world can be acknowledged but not touched.

"I wish I could do something like that," Daisy says dreamily, breaking the silence between the four of them. "You're ever so good, Gwen."

Gwen glances to the side, smiling a little. "Thank you, Daisy. Maybe I can show you a little tomorrow. I have to finish this letter tonight."

"Would you?" she asks eagerly. "I'd enjoy that ever so!"

Gwen smiles at her, and the silence resumes. Anna chances a glance at Mr. Bates. He doesn't seem quite as settled as usual. He keeps furrowing his brow, but it isn't one of his looks of concentration. She wonders what's wrong. Before she can think of a subtle way of bringing it up, however, Daisy speaks again.

"You know that Turkish gentleman?" she asks shyly, "is he as beautiful as everyone says he is?"

"Daisy!" Anna laughs. "You do ask some things."

"I'm just curious! I never get to see anybody who visits, what with being in the kitchens all day. And all of the maids were in such a spin."

"Well, he was quite nice," Anna says, though she isn't sure that she should be saying such things in front of the impressionable kitchen maid – she doesn't want to encourage her to be silly.

Gwen, however, seems less bothered by the prospect, shooting her a wide grin from across the table. "Oh, come on, Anna! He was a little bit better than nice!"

Daisy's eyes are wide with interest. "Really?"

"I'm not sure he warrants the fuss that he got," says Anna quickly, but Gwen once again cuts her off.

"You've changed your tune!"

The redhead is grinning mischievously at her, her cheeks flushing bright red at the remembrance of the Turk's good looks, and Anna's own cheeks begin to heat too.

"Don't be silly, Gwen."

"Anna, there's no need to be coy! You said yourself that you thought he was unlike any Englishman that you've ever met."

She can feel Mr. Bates finally lifting his head from his book. Now three pairs of eyes are on her, but it's Mr. Bates' stare that she can feel most acutely. It burns into her skin, and her cheeks flare even redder from embarrassment.

"I didn't mean –" she says stumblingly, but Gwen cuts her off again.

"You said he was beautiful." Her friend's tone is teasing, and her eyes are dancing with childish mirth. Anna knows that Gwen doesn't mean anything malicious in announcing it to the room, but she suddenly feels a burst of shame at her words. Mr. Bates' gaze has turned more calculating.

"Really?" Daisy says eagerly, oblivious to the head housemaid's inner embarrassment. "Is he really that good looking, Anna? Is he better looking than Thomas?"

"I'd say that almost anyone is better looking than Thomas," Mr. Bates mutters beside her, low enough for only her to hear, but there is something tight in his voice.

"He's all right," Anna says as nonchalantly as she can. "I suppose he makes a vast change from the usual people."

Both Gwen and Daisy giggle, and Daisy rests her elbow against the table, giving that vacant, innocent smile.

"Thomas says that he likes him," she says. "So he must be nice."

"Though I suspect Thomas likes him for all the wrong reasons," Mr. Bates mutters again, and this time Anna fights a smile of her own.

"I wish I could just get one glimpse of him," Daisy sighs. "That's all I want. But I know it'll never happen."

Right on cue, they hear Mrs. Patmore bellowing from the kitchen. "Daisy, where on earth have you got to? I said you could have a ten minute break twenty minutes ago!"

Daisy pales significantly at her words, and bolts out of the room like a baby colt, eager to appease the fearsome cook's wrath.

"Poor girl," says Mr. Bates with a slight smile. "She never has a moment to catch her breath, does she?"

"Mrs. Patmore means well," says Anna with a sympathetic chuckle. "And I think Daisy needs the tough love."

Silence reigns for a moment, and each of them continue on with their respective tasks. Anna has the funny feeling that Mr. Bates is watching her out of the corner of his eye, but whenever she tries to surreptitiously glance at him, he is always studiously reading his book. She flushes at the thought that he might know that she keeps looking at him, however.

Only ten minutes later, Gwen stretches her arms above her head, yawning widely.

"I'm sorry about that," she says through another yawn. "I'm tired. I've finished my letter now, so I think I'll go on up to bed before it gets much later. You coming, Anna?"

Now she can definitely feel Mr. Bates' eyes on her, but she tries to keep her voice steady as she pretends to be scrutinising her needlework. "Not just yet. I just want to finish this off. I won't be too long. You get off."

Gwen nods. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," they both echo, watching as the redhead gathers her machine and papers together and makes her way out of the servants' hall, her heels clicking. They wait until the sound has faded before breaching the silence again.

"To say that she's never met him, the Turkish fellow is certainly making an impression on Daisy," says Mr. Bates, flicking over the page in his book. "I knew that he was charming, but that's some power."

"Daisy's far too impressionable," says Anna. "Just looking at how she is with Thomas makes that very clear to see."

"She's not the only one who he's made an impression on, though," continues Mr. Bates. There is something in his tone. Anna can't quite work out whether it's teasing or not.

"It's just the excitement of a fresh face," she says airily. "Nothing more than that."

"But Gwen seems to think that you were just as enamoured as everyone else. Beautiful, you say?"

There is a definite trace of teasing in his usually serious voice now, and Anna feels her cheeks heating dramatically at his words.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that," she stumbles. "I mean, I don't – not really – not at _all_ – "

He chuckles, the sound soft and lilting. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson."

"Mrs. Hughes would chase everyone around, wanting them all exorcised."

"Including you?" he says lightly, raising an eyebrow at her.

Anna suddenly finds herself tongue-tied. She fumbles with her thread.

"Don't be silly," she says. "He's much younger than me."

"By a couple of years," Mr. Bates counters. Is he enjoying flustering her?

"Well, he's a member of the upper class. I'm only the maid."

"And a much kinder person than most," says Mr. Bates softly. "I'd say a kind soul is much more important than the amount of money you have."

Anna flushes an even darker shade of crimson, finding that her hands are shaking so badly that she can't continue on with her intricate stitching. His compliments are making her glow. She's been longing to hear him say something like that, and he _has_.

"Thank you," she says. "Now you're the one being very kind."

They fall silent again then, the only sound the turning of Mr. Bates' book's pages, a whispering sound in the quiet, like the heart's secrets. Anna manages a few more stitches before her eyes are drawn irresistibly to the man beside her once again.

"That's not all there is to beauty, you know," she says, before she can stop the words from tumbling from her mouth.

"Hmm?" Mr. Bates raises his head from his book, looking intrigued. "What do you mean?"

It's suddenly much harder to think of something to say, and she feels like a silly little girl for even saying anything in the first place. "Well, everyone was quite enamoured with the way that Mr. Pamuk looked, but there's more to a man than that."

"Oh, is there?" Mr. Bates' tone is still light, though there is the slightest undertone of curiosity now. "What else makes a man, then? I must admit that I haven't noticed any other qualities before."

They both chuckle together, though Anna's giggle is slightly nervous. He's still staring at her. Her stomach squirms pleasantly.

"I should hope you haven't noticed," she says as boldly as she dare.

Mr. Bates chuckles again, putting his book down. Now his sole attention is on her. Her stomach flutters more pronouncedly.

"Do go on then, Miss Smith," he says, her name sounding delicious on his tongue. "You've got me intrigued now. What do you think makes a man?"

The conversation has taken an entirely absurd turn. Anna knows that she shouldn't be speaking about these things at all, and especially not with Mr. Bates. It makes her feel oddly vulnerable and ridiculous.

Still, she can't stop herself.

"Well," she says, choosing her words carefully, "I think that you should look beyond someone's surface if you want to see what they're really like."

"That sounds like a very good idea."

She can't tell if he sounds patronising or not, but one glance into his eyes lets her know that he's not mocking her. Heartened by this, she puts down her needle and tries to think of the best way of continuing.

"Surface beauty is all well and good," she says, "but if you don't have a good heart, then how can you hope to ever find love?"

"You can't," he says. There is something foreign in his tone that she can't quite place. He's looking away from her.

"And…and I think that's the most important thing for a person to find." She's speaking too fast, not sure if she should continue or not. "A kind heart. Someone who'll be sympathetic and support you, who you don't feel uncomfortable talking to, who you can call a friend as well as everything else. I think if everyone tried to work like that, then the world would be a much happier place."

Does she sound stupid saying such things? She barely dares to glance around at him. There's something about him that makes her like that; feel bashful and comfortable all in one fell swoop. She taps her foot under the table, waiting for him to say something.

He takes his time in doing so, obviously thinking hard about what he wants to say. She expects him to say that she's wrong, and is surprised when he doesn't.

"I think you're right," he says, and smiles a little. But it's sad. "I agree that companionship like that should be very important in a relationship. But sometimes it isn't."

"Well, I can't think of anything better," she says bravely. "I don't understand why anyone would want to settle for less."

His eyes are faraway, and a little dark around the edges. As if he's recalling something unpleasant. "Neither can I."

She's wrong-footed temporarily by that look, fighting for something to say. And then he turns to her again.

"Tell me more," he says. His eyes are keen. Yearning, almost. "What else do you think?"

"Why the sudden interest?" she asks self-consciously, aware of how daft she must sound, spouting such things.

He shakes his head. She thinks she can see a hint of pink in his cheeks. "It's of little consequence."

"No, go on," she pushes. "If you're worried that I'll laugh at you or tell, then you needn't. I won't, I promise."

"I know you won't," he says. "It just sounds a little silly."

"I'm sure it's anything but," she says insistently. "I've told you what I think. I was just wondering why you wanted to know."

He shifts awkwardly in his chair, fingers tapping restlessly over the cover of his book. And then he sighs, the sound loud in the quiet.

"It was more of a literary interest," he says quietly, and the blush is pronounced this time.

Anna frowns. "I'm not quite sure that I understand."

Mr. Bates keeps his eyes trained firmly on the book. "Writers, they speak of beauty in long, flowery terms. They praise it and exaggerate it with beautiful prose. And it certainly helps to gain an interesting perspective on it. But it's also interesting to hear what it means to ordinary people."

"And so you thought you'd ask _me_ about it?" Anna's tone is half-teasing, half-pleased. She isn't sure if she should blush like a little girl or swell with the knowledge that her opinion matters.

"In a manner of speaking. If you recall, _you_ were the one who started talking about it."

He's teasing, but there's something else there too. Something casual. Almost as if he wouldn't have been bothered if Daisy hadn't started it all off. Anna wilts a little on the inside. But she doesn't want the conversation to end just yet. So she decides to be bold.

"And what are your thoughts on the matter, Mr. Bates?"

He jumps visibly at her question, clearly not expecting it, his gaze rising to meet hers. "What?"

She wants to retract it, but she holds her nerve. "Well, it's hardly fair that I offer my opinions without you offering yours. And now I'm just as intrigued by what you think."

He's silent for a moment, clearly debating with himself. She knows him; he's coming at it from every angle, wondering if it's too inappropriate to say anything to her. She waits with bated breath, hoping desperately that he _does_.

He opens his mouth. Her heart is pounding hard against her ribs.

"Very well," he says. "If you want my thoughts, then I'll share them with you."

She nods eagerly, fighting hard against the urge to smile.

"I suppose," he says quietly, "that my view isn't so dissimilar to yours."

"It's not?"

He shakes his head, his eyes misty. She wonders if he's thinking of the past.

"No," he says. "I also think that surface beauty is meaningless if a person doesn't have a kind soul."

Unbidden, her heart begins to beat a little faster. She lays her sewing down flat on the table beside her needle – she's sure that her hands are shaking too much for her to be able to continue on with the intricate pattern.

"Go on," she says, hoping that her voice isn't shaking too much, hoping that she doesn't sound too eager. "What else do you think?"

He seems uncomfortable, but he does as requested, lowering his gaze to contemplate the table top. "Well, I think a sense of humour is vital. If someone has the ability to make someone else laugh, then it can be a beautiful gift indeed."

She's almost on the edge of her seat, hanging on to his every word.

"And?" she almost whispers.

"Spirit. Inner strength." He's almost whispering himself now, his voice soft and barely there. "An open mind. An ability to help someone, no matter who it is. All of these things make a person beautiful, because they're qualities that are so rarely seen in the world."

"What else?"

He shrugs those broad shoulders just slightly, keeping his gaze away from hers. "There are countless other things that can make a person beautiful. But it's rare for all of these qualities to be in just one person."

Anna is silent for a moment, weighing up the thoughts in her mind. But, ultimately, she is not strong enough to keep them locked inside. She always has the burning desire to share the thoughts in her head with him, no matter what they are. Just recently, it's become harder than ever not to share herself. So she doesn't try to stop herself now.

"Do you think anyone has them all?" she asks him, raising her eyes to gauge his face expression.

He's clearly not been expecting that line of enquiry, for he starts a little, his eyes darting to meet hers for a moment before dropping.

"Oh, I'm quite sure that there are a few people out there," he says as lightly as he can, but she can tell that it's forced, and that there is more meaning behind his words than he is letting on.

"Have you ever met anyone like that?" she persists, leaning back in her chair to better see him.

His eyes are dark and piercing on her face, and she feels as if he's looking right through her. But it doesn't feel intimidating. It feels natural. _Right_.

"Just one person," he says, and his voice is hoarse.

She shivers, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end pleasantly. But then she wilts. She has a feeling that Mr. Bates has met hundreds of people in his lifetime – from his time in the war to his time spent in London, he has seen so many things that she can only dream of. She can only imagine the countless beautiful women that he has spoken to and known throughout his life. Of course he's met someone like that. A past love, presumably. The thought fills her with dread, and suddenly she isn't so sure that she wants the conversation to continue.

"What was her name?" she is compelled to ask.

His face expression changes so subtly that she wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't spent so much time absently-mindedly studying each of his features in great detail during quiet moments when he is consumed with other activities. But the shutters have come back down, closing him off from the world. Clearly, he isn't ready to divulge that sort of information. And she doesn't think that she could bear to hear it anyway. She doesn't want to see his eyes soft with recollections of past loves. It makes her heart twinge just thinking about it; actually seeing such an expression upon his face would be the cruellest punishment of all.

Still, there is room for one last question, because she knows that despite her feelings, she needs some kind of information – even if it hurts.

"Where were you when you met her? Were you out in Africa?"

She waits with bated breath, her heart hammering like a hummingbird's wings against her ribcage as she watches him weighing up the question, evidently deciding if it would be appropriate or not to answer her. She sees the brief flicker of self-defeat in his eyes, and then he opens his mouth. She braces herself.

"No, I wasn't in Africa," he says softly, his voice scratching against his throat. His eyes never leave her face. "But I was out in the countryside."

And it doesn't mean anything, not really, for he could have been in the countryside anywhere in the entire world, but it still has the breath catching in her throat and the thoughts whizzing in her head, and his eyes are still boring deep into hers. Reflexively, her hand twitches on the table, though she isn't sure if she should reach out to touch his arm or not –

"Anna, Mr. Bates? What are you still doing down here? I thought everyone else had gone up!"

They both start at the sound of Mrs. Patmore's loud voice, and Mr. Bates almost stumbles to his feet in his haste to put some space between them, wincing. Anna feels a pang of worry at his contorted face, but she can say nothing. Mrs. Patmore's eyes are twinkling as she looks on them.

"What's going on here then?"

"Nothing," Mr. Bates says quickly, reaching out to snatch his book. "Nothing at all. We were just talking. But it's getting quite late now, so I think I'll call it a night. See you in the morning, Mrs. Patmore. Anna."

Mrs. Patmore waits until the sound of his cane has receded before turning back to Anna with a wry grin on her face. Anna finds herself blushing under that knowing stare.

"So, you were just talking?" the cook says.

"Yes, just talking," Anna says neutrally. "Why, what else would we be doing?"

"Oh, I'm sure that _I _don't know," says Mrs. Patmore, but the smirk is wider than ever. "Will you be heading up now, or would you like me to leave the lamps?"

"No, that's all right," she says, struggling to her feet. "I'm feeling tired now anyway."

"Goodnight then, Anna."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Patmore."

Slowly, Anna makes her way towards the staircase that leads to the attic rooms, her mind spinning with everything that she's said and heard tonight. Mr. Bates' idea of beauty is so close to her own, that they might very well have been fashioned for each other. She won't try to deny that _he_ is her idea of a beautiful man, in every sense of the word. Mr. Pamuk might be wonderful to look at, but Mr. Bates possesses the qualities that are more important. A kind heart. Good manners. An ability to make her feel safe and comfortable and equal. Those sincere eyes that focus on her completely while she's talking, making her feel as if he's the only one that could ever capture her attention.

Is it all right for her to admit to herself that she's fallen in love, completely and utterly? Or will it only complicate matters further? She isn't naïve; she understands very well that inter-house romances are strictly forbidden. But if there is just the slightest chance of finding out if he feels something for her too…

She's known for a while that Mr. Bates is her idea of a beautiful person. Perhaps, in time, he will discover that she's his too.


End file.
